by M L Maki
“Then, why are going there tomorrow?”
Because I like the old man. Because I want to be helpful and don’t mind a day of work. Also, because I’m not the kind of person who spends their life hiding instead of living.”
“Oh, then you like her?”
“Yeah, I do.”
USS LIVERMORE
1441, 31 March, 1942
Captain Huber, “So, is there anything you can actually do to protect yourself on the surface?”
Morrison, “We can fire torpedoes from the surface, but that’s only effective against large floating targets. We have a watch with a rifle, but that’s about it.”
“How much water do you need to dive?”
“We like a hundred fathoms. We need forty or fifty feet under our keel, so at least one hundred fifty feet. In truth, I would want to know for certain what the bottom conditions were at that shallow a depth.”
LCDR Henry Morrison, “Can you use sonar to map it out?”
“Generally, we only use passive sonar. In 1990, using active sonar would be suicide. High frequency sonar would be detected by any other sub and act as a ‘come kill me’ beacon. Right now, it might work.”
Huber, “Wouldn’t people hear it?”
John, “We would transmit above audible frequencies. You get better picture resolution that way as well. It just has a shorter range and is bounced more easily.”
Henry, “Bounced?”
“Changes in salinity and temperature can cause a sonar signal to bounce away like a ball hitting concrete.”
STEWART FARM
0800, 1 April, 1942
Mike backs his car out of the way and parks. He gets out and grabs two bags out of the back. Sheamus comes out of the barn, “You’ll need to change if ye wanna work.”
Mike holds up his bags, “I brought work clothes. Any chance I might do my laundry, as well?”
Laureen, from the porch, “I’ll do your laundry. Let me show you where you can change.”
He follows her into the house and she leads him to a room, “If you like, I can wash what you’re wearing, as well.”
“Thank you very much. I wasn’t expecting this.”
“I think with your brawn, you’d be of more use to Sheamus.”
He changes into jeans, a grey t-shirt, a flannel shirt, and a denim jacket. He takes his boots out to the rear porch and puts them on. The washing tub is on the back porch. Laureen looks up from her work, “Where did you get those clothes?”
Mike smiles, “Spokane, Washington, USA. I think I bought them in 1988 when I was at my sister’s house on leave. I’m a time traveler.”
“Oh. Um. Oh.”
“My whole battle group came back in time.”
“I heard of that, but I didn’t know.”
He stands up, “I’d be happy to tell you all about it, but I should probably get some work done.”
“Over lunch?”
“Sure.” He smiles and walks away. She watches him go, then turns back to her washing. She has two loads to run through the machine before she can get to his.
Mike joins Sheamus in the barn where he’s repairing a milking stall. “One of my milkers has a wicked kick. She mostly takes it out on the stalls.”
Mike holds boards and hands Sheamus nails. When that is done, they go and clean out the water troughs. Then, they prepare the garden for plowing. Sheamus fires up his Ferguson-Brown Model A tractor and plows the garden. Mike goes to the wood pile and chops wood for the house. Soon, he’s so warm, he’s pulled off his jacket and shirts.
Laureen finally gets to Mike’s laundry. She’s sees him swinging the axe, splitting each round with one hit, shirt off, his skin glistening with sweat. She picks up his dirty clothes and puts them to her nose, breathing in. Her eyes lower, and she smiles. Another breath, and she opens her eyes. She puts the clothes into the machine.
LONDON ROAD, GLASGOW, SCOTLAND
1510, 1 April, 1942
The cab drops Cumberland off in front of a nondescript and faintly Victorian house. He pays the cabby and walks to the door. He’s wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. Thinking, “Okay, the car is only a couple of blocks away at the train station. I know I have enough money. Time for some fun.” He knocks.
A large, stocky man answers the door, “Yes?”
“I’m looking for Betty’s?”
“And you are?”
“Does it really matter?”
“I suppose not. You’re dressed strange.” He lets Cumberland in. There are several women sitting in the lounge, all dressed nicely. An older woman walks up and curtsies, “May I get you anything, m’lord?”
“Would you be Betty?”
“I am, and you are?”
“James Bond.”
“Welcome, Mr. Bond. Would you like a drink or would you prefer to get straight to business?”
“I’m not in a chatty mood.”
“The ladies are two pounds for a gobble, five pounds for the hole. Ten, if you won’t use a Tadger wrap. You’ve got your pick of ‘em.”
He points at one who reminds him of his ex-wife and hands Betty a ten. He goes to the woman and takes her hand. They head upstairs and she leads him to a room. “Sir…”
“Stop. No words. You remind me of someone.” The room is fairly clean and the sheets changed. He’d asked for a classy place, and he’d got one. He undresses her, then turns her back to him as he disrobes.
He turns her around and pushes her onto the bed. He climbs on and mounts her without preamble. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t make a sound. He grabs her hair and growls, “Fucking cunt. Fucking whore. Beg for it.”
“W…What?
“Beg.”
“Um, um, fuck.”
He yanks her hair and grins with gritted teeth.
She looks into his eyes, “Please. Please don’t. Please.”
He releases her hair and she relaxes a bit. He puts his hands on her throat and smiles. He slowly squeezes. Her left hand scrambles for a cord below the head board. Just as her hand touches the cord, he’s done, growling, his hands still wrapped around her neck.
He smiles, and lets go, pushing away and standing up. Her hand is still on the cord, but she hesitates. He dresses, pulls a twenty out of his pocket and tosses it on her. “Shut up about it, or I’ll really kill you.” Smiling, he walks out of Betty’s. He whistles as he walks down the street to his Navy sedan.
STEWART FARM
1730, 1 April, 1942
It’s been a hard day of work. The four of them sit down to another amazing dinner. Mike regals them with stories. When they’re done, Mike helps clear the table and organizes the dishes. Laureen fills the sink with hot water. She washes and Mike dries.
Jean Luc comes up to his mother, shutting his eyes. She smiles and lifts him to the side board, washing his face and hands. She speaks in French to him, then puts him down, “Go read with Papa.”
“Okay, Mummy.”
Mike, “So he knows French.”
“I don’t want him to forget. Knowing more than one language is an advantage.”
“I agree.” They finish the dishes and walk into the parlor. Sheamus has Jean Luc on his lap, reading to him. Sheamus looks up, “When must you return?”
Mike, “I don’t wish to impose, but I must be back tomorrow night.”
Sheamus, “We’ve a guest room and wish your company.” He grins, “We just might get that garden planted tomorrow.” He gives Laureen a sly look, “Laureen, why don’t you show the lad our sunset?”
Jean Luc, “Can I go, Papa?”
Sheamus squeezes the boy, “But I haven’t finished the story, little one?”
Mike and Laureen walk outside into the cool night. Mike, “Is he making you uncomfortable?”
“What?”
“He’s trying so hard to match make. In truth, it makes me a bit uncomfortable for you.”
“I love him. He’s good to us.”
“He’s a good man and he loves you, but it’s for you t
o choose, not him. Anyway, I’m no slam dunk.”
“What is a slam dunk?”
He offers his hand and she puts her hand in his. “As I see it, you were already married to a sailor. If Sheamus is any indication, he was a great person. I have the majority of the war in front of me and no guarantee I won’t be killed, as well. I believe my odds to be fair to good, but there’s always that chance.”
“I understand. What is a slam dunk?”
“Do you know the sport of basketball?
“Not really.”
“Okay, if a person is tall and athletic enough, they can jump up and stuff the ball into a net. If they can do it, it’s very easy. A slam dunk is something easy.”
“You’re tall. Can you slam dunk?”
He chuckles, “I’m not very good at basketball, but yeah, I’ve done it.”
“Then you are a slam dunk.” She smiles. They turn and look at the sky to the west. The setting sun is lighting up the loch and making the clouds glow.
“Do you understand what I mean? Us together would be very hard, and probably unfair to you.”
“Nothing in life is certain. Yes, you may die. Truth, I may die. In time, everyone does. The question, then, is do we live?”
“Can you explain why you would even consider me?”
She holds up a finger, “You’re a good man. You have a good heart and you are kind to my child.” She holds up a second finger, “You’re a serious person. You do not scoff at work or duty or responsibility.” She holds up three fingers, “You’re a sailor. Someone important. It’s something honored here. Those that have served are revered and respected.” She holds up four fingers, “You are beautiful.”
Startled, he shakes his head, “I don’t get the last, Laureen. I don’t think you quite understand what you’re getting into. I want us to go slow. I want to know for certain this is right for you, your family, and me.”
“I accept to go slow. It’s wise. When the war is over, what will you do?”
“I’ve been in the Navy sixteen years. There’s probably four more years left of the war. When I reach twenty years, I qualify for retirement. The retirement as a first class isn’t much, but it’s an income for life. Had I not come back in time, my plan was to stay in until they threw me out, buy a piece of land in a quiet place, and build a life. I expected to be alone. Now, that I’m here. Now, that I’m in this moment, I don’t know what I want. I’m afraid of hurting you and Jean Luc.”
“We are strong and you are a good person. If you stayed here after the war, would your family miss you?”
“They don’t even know me. My parents are kids right now. My grandparents are…difficult. I would need to see my folks grow up from time to time, but I wouldn’t want to live in their pockets. Um, too close. We need to think about this.”
“I agree.” She turns to face him, her body inches from his. She looks up into eyes, “Perhaps, we should sleep on it.”
“Yes. Perhaps.” He smiles.
Still holding his hand, she walks him into the house, then drops his hand. “Your clean clothes are in the guest room. I’ll see you in the morning.” She smiles at him and walks up the stairs.
ELECTRIC BOAT DESIGN LOFT, GROTON, CT
0950, 2 April, 1942
Lt. Mallory pours over blueprints for a proposed submarine design. Rather than writing directly on the plans, he’s taking careful notes on a pad. He looks up at the clock, puts the notebook away, and walks upstairs to the conference room. He waits at the front as engineers and project officers file in. CDR Kevin Holloway, the submarine design lead comes in and sits down. Holloway came back in time on the Long Beach and had twelve years on fast attacks.
Mallory, “Is this everyone, sir?”
“It is. You can start.”
Mallory, “Okay. I’ve found the items that must be corrected to avoid catastrophic failure, improve function, or improve repairability. First, a swivel snorkel will leak. There is no practical way to seal the join from the pressure of a deep dive.”
“But you won’t be using it in a deep dive. It’ll be stowed.”
“True, but when we come shallow again and try to use it, it’ll be full of water. Gentlemen, it is unacceptable to dump 200 gallons of water through the vents and onto the head of the crew every time you use the snorkel. I understand your attempt at a longer reach. If that is a priority, then make the hull, and/or the sail larger, so a sliding snorkel can be used. In fact, I’m recommending two more feet of diameter for the sub. It solves some other issues we’ll get to.”
An engineer, “Two more feet will increase the hull thickness and energy needs while slowing down the speed.”
“Streamlining will make up for the cost to speed. The additional beam serves a handful of purposes. First, it allows for a larger battery bank. Next, it solves the access issues beneath the engine and port generator. It also allows the proposed sonar dome to be three inches further forward, increasing the arc of detection and providing room for more effective sound isolation.”
They ask questions and argue over Mallory’s recommendations for twenty minutes. An engineer, “While the area is squared, the volume is cubed. This will work.”
CDR Holloway nods, “Redraw the lines. The Lieutenant is right on all counts. Clyde, I need you to work with him to get a wave pool model made. Have we come up with a testing rig that can properly test a submerged hull design?”
Mallory, “I have that.” He shows Holloway the plans.
The commander looks at the plans and hands them off to Clyde, Make it.” He gets up and leaves.
NAVY PIER, SANDBANK, SCOTLAND
1945, 4 April, 1942
Mike Brown pulls his car to a stop and get out. He helps little Jean Luc out of the passenger seat as Sheamus and Laureen get out of the rumble seat. He gets his bag out and looks toward the San Francisco. He’s in his working blues and he’s going to sea.
Jean Luc, “Uppy.” Mike picks him up. “You gots to go?”
“I do, little one.”
“Why?”
Sheamus, “It be his duty, wee one.”
“Okay.”
Mike hands Jean Luc over to Sheamus, “Thank you, Sheamus.”
“Thank you, lad. Now, you take care, aye?”
Mike, “I will.”
Laureen takes his hands in hers, “We’ll be praying for you.”
OPERATIONS ROOM, ADMIRALITY CITADEL, LONDON
0910, 13 April, 1942
The First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir Dudley Pound calmly walks into the operations center. The place is buzzing with quiet urgency. The duty officer approaches, “Sir, the Tirpitz is underway. Western Approaches is rerouting convoys. We are sortieing the King George and Duke of York, with the Eagle and Unicorn. May we direct Task Force Yankee to engage?”
“Do we know its course?”
“No, sir. There are three convoys in danger of attack.”
“I will make the call to Alconbury. Please dial me through.”
In a minute, “Sir, Captain Holtz on line 1, sir.”
“Captain, the Tirpitz is underway. We have three convoys scrambling. Can you attack it?”
Holtz, “No, sir. I would like to, but it is beyond our mission. I will, however, send the San Francisco. It’s about 800 miles away, but it’s the best I can do”
“Can you locate the Tirpitz?”
“Perhaps. Is it alone?”
Pound, “No. I’m told it’s with a cruiser and several destroyers. All have anti-aircraft missiles fitted.”
“Understood, I’ll keep you posted.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, BETWEEN ICELAND AND THE FAROE ISLANDS
2052, 13 April, 1942
Brown is on the mess deck reading a novel. The ‘Hunt for Red October’ is playing for the thousandth time on site TV. There’s a faint vibration throughout the ship and the hiss of flow noise. The sub is sprinting in a high-speed run 800 feet down. It puts them well below any current sub, and well above the bottom, which is 1000 feet below.
/> He reads the same page for the third time. Right now, sea mounts terrify him. They have good charts from when they played here with the Russians. Still, you never know. Finally, he sets down the book and writes Laureen a letter
